


Snuggles for Elephants

by holesinthesky



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Cuddling & Snuggling, Deep Pressure Therapy, Fluff, M/M, SO MUCH FLUFF, syrupy feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-27
Updated: 2013-10-27
Packaged: 2017-12-30 15:10:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1020173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holesinthesky/pseuds/holesinthesky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cuddle therapy, essentially. And snuggly love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snuggles for Elephants

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elephantfootprints](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elephantfootprints/gifts).



> So what do you do when you have inappropriately porned all over a ficlet that was meant to be snuggles? There's only one thing you can do - you have to write apology!fluff. I can only hope this makes amends for the vagina talk, elephants ;)
> 
> And she beta'd it too, like a hero.
> 
> Edit: And oh-all-that-is-holy-and-exciting, ideduceyou has made a podfic. Of my little story! Argh! Link to her lovely voice is at the bottom of the page.

It was one of those days. Sherlock paced circles around the living room, kicking furniture and clawing at his hair as if the boredom and frustration could be physically extracted. John arrived home just in time to be snarled and snapped at, every attempt to placate seemingly taken as a personal affront.

 

John never knew what to do with Sherlock on days like these. It seemed cruel to leave him alone, but it was equally fruitless to stay. He settled for shuffling impotently into the kitchen, murmuring about tea. A particularly sickening crunch erupted from the vicinity of the coffee table and John dropped his teabag in surrender. Time for the desperate measures. Sherlock looked up as John entered the living room, but John gave him no time to react as he all but tackled him where he stood, wrapping as many limbs as he could around the six foot tower of frustrated energy.

 

Sherlock initially stiffened at the embrace, then, once he had absorbed his position, started to flail in earnest, pushing and scrabbling to break John’s hold. John started to doubt his strategy, and was just about to loosen his grip when Sherlock just… _melted_. John could think of no other word for it. He braced his hands wide across Sherlock’s back, squeezed a little harder and any remaining tension seemed to empty from Sherlock’s frame in a rush, a great gush of breath leaving him as his forehead lowered to John’s shoulder. The now dead weight of a relaxed Sherlock was causing John to list somewhat to the side so he shuffled them none too elegantly to the sofa and managed to position them lengthways, Sherlock glued to John’s side by gravity and the sheer weight of exhausted relief.

 

Sherlock hadn’t said a word. After a few minutes even his breathing seemed to even out and his eyes fluttered closed. When he thought Sherlock had fallen asleep, John started to loosen his grip only for Sherlock to frown and push his face further into John’s neck. Right, maintain the pressure then, John thought. Boney though he was, Sherlock actually turned out to be a rather comforting weight, lulling John into a light doze.

 

He woke alone, but peeled an eye open to see Sherlock across the room, gaze boring into John’s skull almost like a physical touch.

 

“Ah, good, you’re awake,” Sherlock said, steepling his fingers beneath his chin.

 

“Hrmm, getting there, yes. You ok?” John asked.

 

“Yes, yes, I’m fine. I...” Sherlock seemed to hesitate, losing some of his businesslike air. “What you did, back then - thank you, that was… unprecedented. I don’t fully understand my reactions. Something to do with biochemical reactions to deep pressure, I imagine. But - I appreciate it.”

 

“Well, you’re welcome. Seemed like it was worth a try, you being so wound up.” John shrugged.

 

Sherlock hummed his assent, already clearly back inside his own head. That was the most they ever spoke about it. Sherlock would wind himself into a frenzy and John would swaddle him up and bring him ticking back down to earth.

 

The first time Sherlock sought John out himself wasn’t until months later. Sherlock wasn’t in a frenzy, but he seemed weighed down somehow, dragged under by lassitude and ennui. He silently moved next to John on the sofa and tipped over until his head touched John’s shoulder; a wordless request. John tried to catch Sherlock’s eye to see just what he wanted but Sherlock wouldn’t meet his gaze, staring vacantly at his own knees, his face an expressionless mask. John sighed quietly and gathered the man into his arms, turning around to lay against the chair arm with Sherlock cradled between his knees. He wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s narrow chest and continued with his book.

 

After a few minutes Sherlock turned over and buried his face in John’s chest, wedging his arms either side of John’s body. John thought Sherlock looked so young there, his eyelashes fanned across smooth cheeks, his mouth slightly open like a child in sleep. His chest ached with a sort of melancholy affection, and he tightened his arms around him, pressing a dry kiss to the top of his hot, conflicted head.

 

The floodgates opened from there. John concluded that Sherlock had only just realised the potential of touch and was now eking out every drop he could get. He would brush John’s shoulder in passing, squeeze his hand as he took his tea, pull John’s feet into his lap and stroke at his shins as he thought. It got to the point where John felt cold on the rare occasion that he sat alone in the evenings and he wondered if he didn’t need this as much as Sherlock.

 

If you were to ask John when he and Sherlock started to share a bed, he wouldn’t be able to tell you. It just sort of happened, a natural progression. He was brushing his teeth one morning when he realised that it was now normal to wake up with Sherlock’s knee tucked into the edge of his hip, warm breath against his neck and spidery fingers picking sleepily at his pyjamas. When he didn’t have to be up for a shift he would bury further into his warm friend and relish the feeling of closeness, of being wrapped up and… safe. Not that he would admit to that last one.

 

On one such morning he awoke to Sherlock staring at him intently, chin propped on John’s chest.

 

“You’re not going to expect sex, are you?”

 

John snorted, and then laughed harder as it made Sherlock’s head wobble against his abdomen. “No Sherlock, no sex necessary.”

 

“Ok. Good. Go back to sleep,” instructed Sherlock.

 

“Kind of difficult with you staring a hole in my skull, Sherlock,” said John.

 

Sherlock heaved a great put upon sigh before turning his face back against John’s chest. If John felt a small kiss pressed there, he didn’t say anything about it.

 

It was, once again, whilst brushing his teeth that John realised something very _big_. He realised that he was happy. He had a real home, paid work he didn’t hate, just enough danger to keep him feeling alive, and this… _thing_ with Sherlock to come home to. He rinsed his mouth, flicked the toothbrush into its pot with a satisfying clang, and retreated to bed to wrap himself up in chemical-stained arms, press his nose into curiously sweet-smelling hair and hold onto the man he loved.

**Author's Note:**

> I tumbl at theresholesinthesky.tumblr.com, where I mostly rec writing far better than my own and reblog snarky gifsets.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * A [Restricted Work] by [ideduceyou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ideduceyou/pseuds/ideduceyou) Log in to view. 




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